


The Golden Chain

by gin_and_ashes



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_and_ashes/pseuds/gin_and_ashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he believed in that nonsense, he'd say the universe was trying to tell him something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Golden Chain

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to jlrpuck for her wonderful work as beta.

Rose shivered. Ice planets were lovely to look at, as a rule, but they could be a misery. Especially, as now, when the inhabitants lived in what were essentially huts. Huts without heat, save for a small fire at the centre. They'd saved this particular tribe from the usual threatening alien menace, and for once Rose was looking forward to saying a perfunctory good-bye and running off, the way the Doctor always did.

Always, of course, except for tonight. Tonight, they were staying in the longhouse where the tribe slept. The whole tribe, under one roof--for warmth and safety, the Doctor had explained. _Well_ , she thought, _I might be safe, but I am bloody well freezing in here._

"Tell me again why we can't stay in the TARDIS?" Rose asked as she attempted to burrow deeper into the pile of furs that would serve as her bed.

The tribe's matriarch had given Rose (and the Doctor, even if he didn't plan on sleeping) pride of place, rewarding them with her own spot closest to the fire. It was exceedingly kind of her, Rose knew, and quite an honour. It also didn't compare to her bed on the TARDIS, with its fluffy pillows and warm, heavy duvet. For one thing, her bed didn't itch, and it definitely didn't smell like--well, like musty old animal skins.  

The Doctor cast a wary glance around, then sat, leaning in close to Rose so as not to be overheard. In the chill of the hut, his breath against her skin was almost searing--yet still she shuddered, feeling him so intimately close.

"Hospitality's extremely important to these people," he murmured. "It's the climate, see. Place like this, a human out after dark's gonna die, no question. So if you come across someone, not inviting them to share your home or camp for the evening is essentially condemning them to death. They have to ask us to stay the night, even if we hadn't saved their herd from the Britzlflain trappers. It wouldn't occur to them to do anything else."

"But why do we have to stay?"

"Same reason. A person caught out after sunset is, saving a miracle--and they don't exist--going to die of exposure before morning. So refusing an offer of hospitality is the same as saying, 'No, thanks, I'd rather die than stay with you.' "

"So a bit rude, then."

"A bit."

"We have to stay the night, is what you're saying."

"We do. It would be an unforgivable insult if we didn't."

"Easy for you to say," Rose groused as she tried to make herself comfortable. "You don't feel the cold. I can barely feel my fingers."

"Give 'em here." The Doctor took her hands in his and began rubbing them vigourously. "You'll be fine, you know. Maybe a bit chilly--"

 Rose snorted; the Doctor narrowed his eyes briefly before his expression softened.

"--but nothing dangerous. Wouldn’t stay here otherwise."

"What, and risk offending all these nice people?"

He kept his eyes fixed on her hands. "Not if it meant your safety."

Rose had been prepared to tease him, to respond to whatever he'd said with a joke, something to draw a dramatic roll of the eyes and an exasperated sigh. It was how they operated; she'd poke, he'd needle, she'd have a laugh at his chagrin, and then they'd both smile and move on. But she found herself unexpectedly unable to form a reply--he'd been so plain in his response, so earnest. Warmth flooded through her, despite the penetrating cold.

Suddenly, she became aware--very aware--of how the Doctor was holding her hands, how her skin pressed against his, even if he was just trying to warm her hands to stop her whining. Her eyes traced the lines of his face, the odd mixture of sharp angles and impossible softness, culminating in his keen blue eyes. There was such joy in them, such mischief and wonder--and sometimes, when he thought she wasn't looking, something so sad it could only ever remain unspoken.

Rose felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch his face, to trace his laugh lines with her fingers. Her arm actually twitched from wanting it. The Doctor, seeming to snap out of his own reverie, dropped her hands and stood, shoving his balled fists into the pockets of his leather jacket.

"You not gonna stay, then?" she asked. "Thought you said we were locked in and all."

"We are. I just--I have a few things I need to discuss with the Matriarch. And I might see if I can be of use overnight. You know, with the, er...with the sentries."

"So you really don't sleep. How's that work, then?"

"What?"

"Well, I mean…" Rose bit her lip, thinking. "Dolphins, yeah? Their brains only sleep, like, on one side at a time. The left side sleeps and the right side's awake, and then it switches. So the dolphin sleeps, right? Except it doesn't." The Doctor looked at her quizzically; she shrugged. "Saw it on a nature programme once. So anyway, I was wondering if that's how your brain worked."

"You comparing my superior brain to that of a sea mammal?" he harrumphed.

"What's wrong with that? Dolphins are clever enough."

"No doubting that. Still," he said, bristling, "you won't catch a Time Lord jumping though a hoop for a reward."

Rose sat up. Her fur coverings fell away, exposing her to the still-frigid air of the hut and causing her to shiver. "It's gotten colder," she said, pulling a fur around her shoulders like a cloak.

"Sun's almost gone," the Doctor remarked, looking up towards the ceiling of the hut as though he could see the sky it obscured. "It's going to get a lot colder before morning, so bundle up, would you?" He placed a firm hand on her shoulder, easing her back down into the furs. "Wouldn't do for you to get frostbite. Your mother would have my head."

Rose nestled deeper into her makeshift bed. The Doctor returned to sit at her side, busying himself with the careful arrangement of the furs that covered and surrounded her. It was very much like he was tucking her in, though she didn't dare point that out to him. He'd just get embarrassed and leave again. No. Best to enjoy, in silence, being the object of his undivided attention. Or better yet, she thought, distract him so he didn't have time to think about what he was doing.

"You never answered my question, you know," she said.

"Didn't know you'd asked one."

That look--she knew that look. It was the look he gave her when he thought he didn't want to tell her something, but really, he did. Rose wondered if he ever thought he was fooling anyone with that look.

"Do. You. Sleep?" There. It was impossible for her to be any more plain.

"Why're you so obsessed with my sleeping habits?"

"So you _do_ sleep." Her grin was triumphant.

"Didn't say that," he shot back, causing her smile to fade. "I'm not human, Rose. Our species may resemble each other--"

"Yeah, how come that is?"

"--but the similarities end there," he continued, ignoring her question. "There's very little about me that's humanlike."

"Well, you eat."

"'Course I do."

"And you drink."

"Yep."

"And I'm guessing you do...other stuff."

"Not as often as you need to, I can tell you that. Never thought I'd have to use my photographic memory to find you a loo on every planet we visit."

"So why don't you sleep? Everything with a brain needs to rest it now and then, right? Even giant Time Lord brains need a recharge."

The Doctor sighed, resigned. "I do sleep. Sometimes. When I need it--which usually isn't often. Although…"

"What?"

"Well, let's just say that there have been times in my life when I've needed sleep more than I do now. Or maybe I just liked naps more. Hard to say."

"You're doing that thing again, you know."

"What thing?" The Doctor shot Rose a quizzical look.

"The thing you do where you don't make any sense."

"I sleep, Rose. But my body's not like yours, despite appearances. The human body has a circadian rhythm that requires eight hours of sleep--or ten, in your case, apparently--" Rose swatted him on the arm. "--for every sixteen you're awake. A full third of your life, spent unconscious. D'you know how long that would be for a Time Lord, if our bodies worked like that?"

Rose shifted, nervously. "I forget, sometimes."

"Forget what?" He seemed almost insulted that anything about him could be considered forgettable.

"That you're, y'know. An alien."

The Doctor's face fell. They'd gotten beyond that, he thought. He'd hoped. After Utah, after the Dalek, she'd brought that pretty boy--that pretty _human boy_ \--along. And he'd allowed it, partly because he'd sensed Rose needed a respite from his alienness...and partly because he could refuse her nothing. He didn't like to think about that too much.

But the human had proved useless--less than--and he'd been confident that Rose no longer needed anything to keep her apart from who or what he was. Well. Maybe 'confident' was too strong a word. Hopeful, perhaps. Not yearning. He wouldn't go so far as that. Not him. Not really.

He sighed. "I am, to you. As you are to me."

"Yeah, but see, you're not."

"And now you're not making any sense."

"You're not alien to me. I mean, you come from a different planet, yeah, but you're...you're not some strange scary thing from another world. Not to me. You're just...you. That's why I forget. I don't think of you as an alien, I just think of you as the Doctor. Half the time I forget what a funny name that is, even."

"It's not funny."

"It is, though." She paused. "Suppose you can't help thinking what aliens we all are, can you?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Don't think of it like that. I've met too many different species to think of anyone as alien. We're all just people, Rose. Even if some of us look like sentient slime."

"Only when you've not had a shower." His eyes rolled dramatically. Rose giggled, then yawned. "It's the cold," she said, burrowing under the furs. "Makes me sleepy."

"Hmmm." The Doctor smiled at her and then, once she appeared situated, drifted a hand over her brow and through her hair. He repeated the gesture absently. The way he was looking at her--so tenderly, so...if he was anyone else, she'd have said lovingly. Rose fought to keep her eyes open, but she could feel sleep coming on, cresting over her like a wave and pulling her in with its undertow.

"You doing something to make me sleep?" she asked drowsily.

"Nope. Just sitting here."

"You gonna do your sentry thing?" 

"My what?"

"You said...you were gonna..." Her eyes closed; words became harder to find.

"Oh, yeah. I'll try and make myself useful."

Rose wanted him to stay, wanted him to keep doing that heavenly--whatever it was. Wanted him to hold her hands like before and sit by her side. But she also knew it would be dreadfully tedious for him. Besides, she didn't want him to get the wrong idea. Or the right one, for that matter. Still…

"Good night, Rose," he said, and withdrew his hand.

Her eyes snapped open. She reached for him, stopping him with a hand on his arm before he could leave. "Will you come back? If, y'know...if you get tired, I mean."

His smile was tender, but his eyes--his eyes were so very sad. "Sure."

"G'night, Doctor," she murmured before finally succumbing to sleep.

   
 

~~~~~

 

The Doctor stood, turning from Rose's bedside and walking briskly to stand next to the fire. He wasn't cold, not exactly. For while he registered the temperature, he didn't feel it in the way others--humans, for example--did. Which wasn't to say that the pleasure of a warm fire was lost on him. No, he quite enjoyed the way the heat spread across his skin and the hypnotic, dancing light of the flames. It was a good way to focus his thoughts, he'd found. Not that he wanted to think too much at the moment.

Thinking would mean he'd have to acknowledge how pleasant it had been to watch Rose fall asleep, how seeing to her comfort and contentment had soothed him, how tickled he'd been by her growing incoherence as she slipped into unconsciousness by his side. And he'd have to think about how he'd forgotten himself. He'd been unable to resist reaching for her, smoothing his hand over her hair, as if he had the right.

His treacherous hands clenched into tight fists. He jammed them into the pockets of his jacket, then pulled it close around his body, as if trying to keep out cold he didn't actually feel. There was a line with Rose. There had to be. He knew that: as a Time Lord, as a man, as her friend...there had to be a line. Rose, with her enormous human heart, trusted him implicitly in ways he still wasn't sure he deserved. It wasn't that he thought he'd ever take advantage of her trust--he wasn't capable of that. But he already needed her more than was strictly healthy, and certainly more than his people would have considered appropriate. Not that he would've cared what they thought, even if they did exist to chastise him. But to let himself get too close, to need her too much...it wasn't wise. And it would end poorly. The best he could hope for was that Rose would eventually tire of travelling and leave him one day. The worst…

He refused to think about it, refused to think of a bunker in Utah and the utter desolation he'd felt when he thought the Dalek had killed her. But the fact remained, even if she stayed with him for the rest of her life (and where had that thought—not a hope—come from?), the time he'd have with Rose would be infinitesimally brief. She'd burn bright in his hearts, but like flash paper she'd be gone before he could blink. Better to keep her at a distance, then, to care for her like a friend and companion than invite the pain that would come with their eventual separation.

A mirthless laugh escaped him. He couldn't even fool himself.

Around him, the Doctor could hear the sounds of the tribe settling in for the night. Most of them were asleep, or nearly so, though a few remained awake. There were the sentries, of course, patrolling to make sure the tribe remained safe from any nocturnal dangers. Some were mothers nursing their infants one last time before sleep; others were older, restless children. And of course there was the unmistakable sound of lovers coupling, impossible to hide in a communal hut. He forced himself to focus on how embarrassed Rose would have been to hear it...and not to let his mind wander down paths it certainly had no right to tread. But with fourteen hours to sunrise, he wasn't sure what he would do.

If they'd been on the TARDIS, he'd have kept himself busy the way he always did when Rose slept; reading, tinkering (there was always something requiring extensive and careful repair), planning their next adventure. There was nothing for him to fix here, unfortunately. Even if there had been, the tribe wouldn't take kindly to him hammering away through the night. The Ardinaq people had no written language, either; theirs was a purely oral tradition. He had a battered copy of _Under Milk Wood_ in his pocket, but he wasn't in the mood. No tinkering, no reading—he might as well sleep, he thought with a sigh.

Sleep. He hadn't done that in...well, in some time. He hadn't lied to Rose; he did need to sleep on occasion, though far less than any human ever did, both in frequency and duration. He did enjoy a bit of a kip now and then, truth be told. Beyond the usual biological benefits, he simply enjoyed the respite for both his mind and body, liked feeling the way everything slowed and stretched around him as his body relaxed and slid into hypnagogia. And sometimes, he just liked not doing, and just being still.

He missed the Zero Room, sometimes.

But since the Time War, since he'd regenerated, there hadn't been time for such luxuries. The timelines were always in danger of unravelling, and only he remained to keep them in order. He'd been less of a Time Lord and more of a plate spinner of late, frantically jumping from one time track to another, sorting things--or nearly so, anyway--and dashing off to avert the next potential disaster.

Frankly, it was all a bit exhausting. So why not sleep? They'd fixed things here; the Ardinaq were safe for another season, at least, and that was all he could do. But they couldn't leave, not yet, even if he did think he could get Rose to the TARDIS without risk of hypothermia. For the first time since the Time War, he was compelled to stay still.

If he believed in that sort of nonsense, he'd say the universe was trying to tell him something.

His jaw dropped in an ear-popping yawn. Quickly he covered his mouth, casting his eyes around the room to make sure no one had seen—but no, everyone was asleep (or otherwise occupied). And besides, what did it matter if he yawned? Only Rose would care, and she'd just smile and tell him to go to bed already. Maybe he should, then. He had time to kill. Not all night, of course, no need to be greedy--just a few hours, just enough to make the night pass faster and to recharge. They'd be off again in the morning, not long after first light if he could roust Rose. Perhaps some sleep would do him good.

The Doctor turned away from the fire, scanning the room in search of an empty sleeping place, but of course there was none. The tribe was large and the hut was small, to minimise the loss of their collective body heat. He could, he supposed, wedge himself up against one of the walls, but he'd be uncomfortable and in the way of the sentries as they patrolled.

There was another option, of course. It was just that taking it was complicated. More than complicated, really. It was a minefield in a quagmire that teetered on the edge of a cliff. Above a volcano. Yes, it was just a place to sleep. It didn't have to mean anything, and anyway, this was Rose. Rose wouldn't think it meant anything, especially if she didn't know--if he was awake and gone before she woke up. And really, what were the chances Rose would wake up before him? He snorted. Not likely. Not even remotely.

A voice in the back of his head told him he was just making excuses, but he stubbornly ignored it. It was over thirteen hours until the sun came up, and longer than that until he could safely get Rose to the TARDIS, even if they were driven there, wrapped in furs, on one of the tribe's sleds. He had nothing to do and several hours in which to do it. It wouldn't be long before he either went mad from boredom or blew something up trying to keep himself busy. Sleep was the best option. Besides, Rose had asked him, hadn't she? She'd said to come back if he was tired. And he was tired. So very, very tired.

The Doctor made his way back to Rose, hands still in pockets, head down, his feet shuffling through the rushes strewn across the floor of the hut. Deep down, he knew he was making excuses--he could probably make it through the night without incident. The fact was that he wanted to sleep, and he wanted to sleep next to Rose. Just this once, he'd stop doing what the universe demanded, and do what he wanted. It was such a little thing...surely he had that right?

Rose was fast asleep when he returned, flat on her belly, with her mouth open and one arm and the opposite leg sticking out of her bed of furs. She looked ridiculous and fantastic, and he couldn't help but grin at the sight of her. Carefully, so as not to disturb her--though he doubted she'd have woken if the herd came trampling through the centre of the hut--he sat down beside her, unlacing and tugging off his boots. He placed them off to the side, then attempted to tug the edge of one of the furs out from under Rose's body, unfortunately with less delicacy than he'd hoped. After a bit of a struggle, the fur came free at last, and he fell backwards, his legs flying up in the air as he muffled a curse. He scrambled to his feet, prepared to find Rose awake and wondering what the hell he was doing, shoeless, at her bedside; but she remained steadfastly asleep, merely rolling over onto her back—and taking up what little remained of the bed.

Sighing, he squeezed himself into what space there was, then used his hip to ease her over to one side, his eyes squeezed shut in fear. _This was a bad idea_ , he thought. _A terrible, disastrous idea._ Any second now, Rose would wake up and find him in her bed like some perverted old uncle. He should leave, he thought. He should get up, put his boots back on, find himself a spot at the other end of the hut, and stare at the fire for the rest of the night, or study the crystal patterns of the hoarfrost, or something. Anything but what he was doing.

But then Rose rolled onto her side, snuffling and curling into him. Her head rested on his shoulder, her hand fisted in his jumper, she let out a sigh of contentment...and he was undone. Slowly, as carefully as he could manage, he brought his arm around her, trying to find a safe place to rest his hand, settling at last on her head, letting his fingers stroke though her hair.

“Y'came back,” she mumbled into his jumper, though the Doctor was fairly certain she was still asleep. No harm, then, in answering her.

“I did.” And if his voice sounded strange, it was because of the odd angle at which he'd had to crane his neck to look at her. Not for any other reason, certainly.

“M'glad.”

“Me too,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

As his eyelids grew heavy, he felt rather than saw her smile.

“Sweet dreams, Doctor.”


End file.
